


Without Space, Memorial

by schizoress



Series: Ways To Say I Love You [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drabble and a Half, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Sort Of, it's the sweet sort of sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schizoress/pseuds/schizoress
Summary: Dragged off during a festival in the middle of a performance, Angela finds herself lost in a memory from a time long past.





	Without Space, Memorial

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a collection of drabbles written for friends, strangers, and simply myself.  
> This prompt was "with no space left between us" and was SUPPOSED to be romantic, alas.. who would I be without a little bit of angst.
> 
> Written for Dragon, with much love.

She holds out her hand, long elegant fingers curling to tempt the blonde woman forward. Their eyes lock as the room floods slowly with music from the festival outside. It's slow and steady, a harmony of strings that slips between the cracks in the floor and rises around them. Angela takes the offered hand, tentative but intrigued now and gasps as she's pulled forward by the woman before her, stepping carefully to the side to avoid collision. Then she finds herself guided right back, closer, the fingers of their free hands lacing together as she moves. 

A quick step and the music muffles behind her, their light and flowing gowns rustling as they sway together. The dance is like a memory somehow, her feet moving to match the careful pace that her partner sets for them. She doesn’t remember this dance for what it was, but she knows what it is and will be and her heart slips into her throat as hands come to wrap around her waist, pulling them ever closer to one another. “ _Amélie_.” The name is but a whisper on her lips, voice warm and full of something bittersweet. The figure that guides her through the motions slows to a stop, a hand sliding up her spine until careful fingers press at the nape of her neck. 

“It has been too long, my dear.” Her words are like honey, sweet and tempting and Angela leans in at the behest of the hand carding through her hair now. The space they fill is lost to time and she lets her eyes slide shut as she is held close. Memory of sweet caresses come to life under the swell of violins from outside and she presses herself impossibly closer, fingers moving to clutch at the deep purple of Amélie's gown, knuckles white with the fear of… _something_. 

That something does not come yet; instead Angela feels fingers curl under her chin, dragging her out of her head and back into the moment. The touch is simple, tender, and slides along her jaw almost reverently before Amélie leans down. Her lips are soft as ever, though the embrace is colder than she remembers. There's something mechanical about the way their mouths slide together that breaks her heart all over again and she feels her eyes well with tears. 

When they part there is more space between them. Angela presses a hand to Amélie's chest and chokes back a broken sob when she feels nothing but the bone cold chill of a body without a heart. She wants to run, tears spilling hot and fast as she remembers. The music is drowned out by the despair thrumming through her veins and she takes a step back, begins to turn away.

“Angela, don't.” There is nothing to the tone of her voice anymore, anything prior just her mind playing terrible tricks on her again. But the hand that circles her wrist is very real, the strength of the pull that stops her in her tracks is too. Her free hand comes up to wipe at her own tears and she turns shakily, some mix of desperation and hope that makes her want to believe. “I've missed you terribly, you know.” Angela averts her gaze from hollow, lifeless eyes. She wants to run for real, to never look back and leave these feelings that will never be returned behind her here in this room. But Amélie, in all her effortless grace and glory, manages a smile that takes Angela's breath away all over again. The tears that lingered begin to spill over and this time it is not her own hands that wipe at the streaks across her cheeks. Cool hands frame her face and Angela shivers at the chill she gets when she finally manages eye contact. The silence in the room is suffocating, but she holds her breath stiller than her body, waiting.

“ _Je te’aime_.” The phrase is soft, so soft in her ears that it seems like her own thoughts. It isn't, though, because she hears it again and again, as if something has broken inside of the hollow shell of the woman she loves so much. Amelie is babbling, her eyes wet with unshed tears like her body doesn't know what to do with such unchecked emotion. “I've missed this,” she touches a hand to her own chest and then runs her fingers through blonde strands, “missed _you_ , Angela, _mon amor_.” Their lips meet once more in the still of the night and it's like a memory, music washing over the women yet again. 

_I love you_ lingers in the space around them as they hold onto one another, pressed so close that they breathe as one.


End file.
